


Demigods in the Hunger Games

by aestheticallyfrogs



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: I also don't know how to tag, I don't know if there are any trigger warnings I need to tag?, I'm Sorry, If I miss any tell me and I'll add them, If there are I'll add them along the way, also there's gay, but like mostly child friendly, please read it, there is violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestheticallyfrogs/pseuds/aestheticallyfrogs
Summary: 24 demigods, born and raised in Panem, have been reaped for the 125th annual Hunger Games. One god is sacred to each district, and sires a handful of children. Now, for the Quarter Quell, two from each place have been forced into the arena, knowing there can only be one victor. None of them know each other, and all of their powers are intact. Demigod against demigod, friend against foe, who might just have the courage to survive?Panem and the Hunger Game system and everything is exactly the same as it is in the books, except for the fact that two tributes of the same gender can be sent because Rick doesn't have the characters for it to be otherwise. Everything will be explained. In this au Katniss's rebellion failed and the games continued.I have the first 60k written so updates should come fairly fast.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Bianca di Angelo & Nico di Angelo, Bianca di Angelo & Zoë Nightshade, Charles Beckendorf & Leo Valdez, Connor Stoll & Travis Stoll, Hazel Levesque & Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace & Thalia Grace, Nico di Angelo & Hazel Levesque, Nico di Angelo & Will Solace, Nico di Angelo & Will Solace & Hazel Levesque, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Percy Jackson & Tyson, Piper Mclean/Shel, Silena Beauregard & Piper McLean
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. The Reaping

DISTRICT 12: HADES

TRIBUTES: HAZEL LEVESQUE (13), NICO DI ANGELO (14)

When Nico di Angelo was 10 years old, his sister vanished.

Just like that. He had come home from school one day, and Bianca was gone without a trace. His mother knew, or at least had a guess of where she was, but Nico had learned not to ask. Her face always filled with such lonely sadness that it scared him, and she never answered. She'd just shut down. Nobody else seemed to have the faintest idea. It was like she had just stopped existing, but Nico missed her. Everyone else told him to forget about her. They told him over and over that she was dead and that he needed to move on. Everyone suffered losses, they said. Dead children were not a rare occurrence in District 12.

But Nico was sure of two things at least.

Firstly, his sister was not dead.

Second, she would never have left him willingly, so surely she would be fighting to get back home. He'd find her or she'd find him.

Time moved on, and Nico grew up and apart from the rest of District 12. He didn't let anyone close to him, hating both them and himself. He rarely spoke, ate, or slept.

When he was eleven, his mother died. Nobody knew why. After that, he was on his own. Some people reached out but most were too afraid. "Unnatural," they whispered.

He became powerful. By the time he was thirteen, he was one of the strongest children of Hades in the district. He became known for his secrets and his lies. Everyone knew he had them, but nobody knew quite what they were. "Trickster," they would say. "Thief. Liar." His only friend was his half-sister, Hazel Levesque, who people told such strange tales about when they thought she couldn't hear.

But he never forgot Bianca. And he never gave up trying to find her.

On the day of his 14th birthday, his sister made him a birthday cupcake. It was lopsided and bulging, and didn't really taste like anything much but to him it was nicest thing he'd had all year. He didn't bother asking where she'd stolen the ingredients from. They shared it, clambering half way up a hill beyond the fence and eating it together over the sprawling forest that stretched out bellow. Once they finished, Nico smiled which made Hazel smile too, resting her golden brown head against his shoulder. 

A month later, it was the reaping. His fourth, Hazel's third. She was shaking with nerves, but he was impassive as always, staring out at the sea of bowed heads in front of the podium. The announcement came that only demigods could be chosen this year and he heard the murmur of relief ripple through the crowd. He and Hazel were pushed forwards into a roped off section right at the front. There were only 17 of them in total, kids ranging from 12 to 18, staring around in a mix of anger and fear. Next to him, Hazel was praying. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. "I promise."

She tipped back her head to frown up at him. "I wasn't praying for me," she said, confused. "I was praying for you."

Nico swallowed past the lump in his throat. He wanted to tell her not to bother, but he couldn't form the words. On the stage, the Escort was chattering away into the microphone, meaningless blether about the Uprisings that slid in one ear and out the other. Too quickly, she was reaching a manicured hand into the female bowl of names, and the entire square held it's breath as she selected one. She took her damn time unfolding it, fully aware of the thousands of people hanging onto her every move.

Then she said in a voice that rang down to his very bones, "Hazel Levesque."

Beside him, Hazel froze. Then she stepped away from Nico and walked up the steps, her back straight and her chin high. Nico felt a sudden surge of pride at her bravery, and hot on its heals was sickening dread. No.

He would not lose another sister.

"Excellent," said the Escort, smiling large and fake. Nobody had teeth that white. "Now for the boys." She reached into the bowl again, and in her ridiculous Capitol accent she read out, "Devyn Harris." 

Nico was stepping forwards before she'd even finished talking. Hazel was shaking her head desperately at him, but he looked past her, meeting the Escort's artificially bright blue eyes. "I volunteer," he said, his voice sounding impossibly far away. "I volunteer as tribute."

* * *

DISTRICT 11: DEMETER

TRIBUTES: MEG MCCAFFREY (12), KATIE GARDNER (17)

Meg McCaffrey was nothing and nobody, just another orphaned child put to work in the fields. There were as many of them as there were weeds. Nobody had ever regarded her as anything different, which was the way she liked it. She didn't have to answer to anybody, as long as she didn't get caught and did her share of the work. She'd half expected things to change when people discovered her godly heritage, but nobody had had the time to really care. For a while, she'd been given more advanced work but within a week they'd forgotten all about her again. She didn't mind. Her mother was useful because it meant she was good at what she did, but being half god in district 11 didn't give you any particular standing unless you were rich, and she was about as far from rich as you could get. 

The reaping came and went each year, but Meg was too concerned with having a full belly to worry much about the harsh policies of the Capitol when she was younger. As she got older she became more aware of how awful it was, and would ramble about it at length to the other children until their supervisor, Robin, found out and beat them within an inch of their lives.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again," she'd told them fiercely. Next to her friend Billie was crying, but Meg thought Robin looked more scared than angry. "They'll hear you and they'll kill you all. I don't care if you're kids, you can't say those things. You'll be dead."

So she'd learned to keep her mouth shut about the starvation, the huge portions of food carted off to the Capitol and wasted while their own stomachs were empty and their water dried up. She'd learned to keep her mouth shut about a lot of things.

Four months after her twelfth birthday, the reaping came, and Meg, bruised and filthy, was herded into the square in front of the justice building. Most of the kids had at least tried to look nice for the occasion, but Meg hadn't had the time or the means. Her scruffy pageboy haircut was tangled, and her glasses were dirty and her clothes were torn. It didn't matter. The odds of her being reaped were low enough that she wasn't worried.

Then the announcement came that changed everything. "This year, as a special event for our Quarter Quell, it shall only be the children of your sacred god that may be offered up. Children of Demeter, if you could come forwards please."

Meg frowned, and tried to take a step forwards, but someone was clinging to her hand. It was Billie, his big brown eyes staring up at her. "No, Meg, you can't go," he said.

She hugged him gently. "I'm coming back. There's plenty of other people that could be picked." He nodded, and looked quickly at the floor. She knew he wouldn't say anything else, so she walked up to front of the crowd, scowling up at the Escort. The purple haired man's lips curled in horror as he took in her bedraggled appearance, and she scowled more at him until he looked away, dipping his hand daintily into the bowl.

"Katie Gardner," he said, and a teenager with a shock of light brown hair came forwards, climbing the steps up to the stage. She looked like she was trying not to cry as she stared out at the heads of the crowd. Meg fought back a twinge of sympathy. 

"Very good. Any volunteers?" The Escort looked around expectantly.

A shriek arose from the audience and a small girl rushed forwards, clearly Katie's sister. They had the same thick hair and leaf green eyes. "Me! Me. I volunteer, I volunteer! Give her back!"

Horror passed across Katie's face and she turned to the Escort looking desperate. "No - Becca - she can't!"

A smile passed across the Escorts lips. This, he could sell. Meg wanted to hit him. "The rules are the rules, I'm afraid. If she wants to volunteer..."

"She's too young." Katie shook her head. "She's 11. She's just a little girl."

The smile disappeared, and the Escort looked instead like he'd just eaten something sour. "In that case, get her out of here." He flicked a hand at the peacekeepers and Katie visibly sagged in relief, even as Becca screamed.

"Get out of here, Becs," she called. "Get out of here and go find mom. Tell her I love you both, okay?"

The fight seemed to go out of the kid, and she nodded, tears slipping down her face. She might have said something else, but she was dragged away. The Escort approached the bowl again, looking around at the audience before reaching in and pulling out another name. 

"Meg McCaffrey."

Meg walked up to the stage as if in a dream and stood beside Katie. This time, when the Escort called for any volunteers the square was as silent as the wind. She hadn't expected anything else. Nobody cared enough to go in her stead, not even Billie.

* * *

DISTRICT 10: ARTEMIS

TRIBUTES: ZOE NIGHTSHADE (?), BIANCA DI ANGELO (16)

Artemis didn't visit often, and recently less and less. Zoe had ran the Hunt in her stead for as long as Bianca could remember, roaming through the tangled forests and rivers of District 10. So when the goddess did visit, it mattered. Sometimes they stopped off at the villages that littered the District, small settlements that handled the livestock that was tithed to the Capitol, but more often than not they slept under the stars. This was one such night. 

The Hunt was a motley collection of nature spirits and demigods and even some mortals. It didn't matter where you were from so long as you had the Hunters spirit. Artemis didn't care, so neither did any of her Hunters. 

The auburn haired girl sat in the middle of the circle, her face glowing silver like the moon. There was an aura about her that no matter what form she wore always set her apart from humans. "I've had reason to believe that this Hunger Games, only the children of gods are to be reaped," she said in a voice like the fast flowing streams of spring. "As I have no children, the tributes shall be selected out of my own Hunt." Her voice was sharp with anger, but not even Artemis could interfere with the Hunger Games. It was a mortal affair, and gods had long since been barred from mortal affairs.

"I shall go," said Zoe at once. The lieutenant rose to her feet, her black hair forming a river down her back. "I refuse to allow one of the children of this hunt to be sent to their death. I shall go in their place. It is my duty as Lieutenant."

The goddess bowed her head, almost as if in grief. "Are you sure? You have served me for a long time, Zoe. I beg you to not throw away your life so rashly."

"That is why I must go, my lady. I have lived a long life. Allow me to do you this for you. My last sacrifice." 

"As you wish. I would rather my Hunters offered themselves up for this, rather than got reaped like cattle. I will make sure your courage is not forgotten." Her silvery gaze passed around the circle, lingering on each of their faces.

Bianca spoke without meaning to. "You said only demigods can be reaped. Do you know who has been chosen so far?"

The goddess's face was unreadable. "You are asking because of your brother."

She lifter her chin. There was no use in lying to a god. "Yes."

Artemis sighed. "Of Hades, Nico di Angelo and Hazel Levesque. Of Demeter, Meg McCaffrey and Katie Gardner."

Bianca's breath hissed out between her teeth. "Then I need to go with Zoe to the Capitol. He's my family, and I can't walk away from him again." She hadn't chosen to leave in the first place.

Phoebe spoke up from the other side of the fire. "What about us? Aren't we your family too?"

"Of course you are. Phoebe, I love you. You know I do, but I have to do this." The other girl dropped her gaze.

"Then it is settled," Artemis said, her voice cutting smoothly through the conversation. "Zoe and Bianca shall go, but we shall all be there to see them off." The goddess stood. "Come. The reaping has already started."

The girls stood as if in a dream. Phoebe's hand found Bianca's and they clung to each other as they began their last walk. The square was packed when they arrived, and a woman from the capitol stood on the stage, her hair dyed metallic gold. 

"Ah - they're here," the Escort said, sounding flustered. She clearly didn't know it was the goddess herself who lead them now. "If you could come up to the roped off section here, we can begin the reaping." The crowd parted to let them past, but nobody in the Hunt acknowledged their existence. Zoe and Bianca took their places on the stage on either side of the Escort, and if it took Bianca a second longer to muster the courage to let go of Phoebe's hand, she told herself it didn't matter.

"Come back to me, my Hunters," Artemis said, raising her hand in salute. Every other hunter echoed the gesture.

"Now wait just a minute," the Escort foundered. "I haven't chosen anyone yet." She gestured feebly to the reaping bowl.

"It has chosen us," Bianca said clearly, half enjoying the look of discomfort on the Escort's face. She met Phoebe's eyes in the crowd. They were wicked with amusement.

Zoe nodded. "It is so."

"I-very well. Let's have a big round of applause for Zoe Nightshade and Bianca di Angelo!"

* * *

DISTRICT 9: APOLLO

TRIBUTES: WILL SOLACE (15), MICHAEL YEW (18)

Will Solace had been working in the infirmary since he was ten. He wouldn't lie and say he loved it, because the injuries he healed were harrowing and too often all he was left with was a corpse. He knew he would never quit though, and not only because he and his father needed the money. If he didn't do this job, nobody else could because even among Apollo's large group of children, his gifts were rare. Pure healing. And no matter how much this job drained him he couldn't sit back and let his people die.

So every day after school he would head down to the scrappy infirmary and do his best with whatever his supervisors gave him. Not during the harvest, though. Everyone worked in the fields then. 

Now, he finished of stitching up the gash in a child leg, and reached behind him for the roll of bandages. He looked up at the girl’s face. She couldn't be more than nine, and a piece of farming machinery had gone clean through her thigh. She'd been doing her level best not to cry out as he stitched her up, but the numbing alcohol he'd given her could only do so much. They hadn't had proper anaesthesia here for as long as he could remember.

"Am I going to be okay?" she asked in a small voice.

"You'll be tip top in no time," he promised her, reaching across to brush a tear of her cheek. She offered him a watery smile which he returned encouragingly. "Now, I just need to put a bandage on here, and then you can go home again. You'll have to take it easy for a few days, though." He didn't state the obvious: not all families could afford to take it easy for a few days.

He sighed, snipping off a section of cloth. A yell from behind him almost made him drop the scissors and he turned to tell them off, getting to his feet. He rolled his eyes when he saw who it was. "Austin, Kayla, what are you doing here?"

"We came to get you," Kayla said.

"The reaping starts in ten minutes," Austin put in. "If you don't show, they'll have your head." Literally, he didn't need to add. The only people who were allowed to skip the reaping were the very injured or the very sick.

"Go." The head nurse, Ariadin, swooped down and plucked the bandages out of Will's hands. "I've got her."

Will nodded gratefully and took off after his half siblings, tearing through the town. It was almost deserted, only the last stragglers like them making their way to the square in front of the justice building. The peacekeepers that guarded the entrance pointed them to their places, and Will and Kayla made their way over to the other 15 year olds, Austin heading to the year above.

Kayla slapped his back lightly. "You okay there, Sunshine Boy?" He nodded. The name had become an old joke between them at this point. Even by district 9 standards, Will was literal embodiment of the sun. Not the most creative nickname, but.

The Escort on the stage clapped to get everyone's attention, and the square fell silent almost at once. Then it began. They droned on and on, and just when he thought it had to be over, there was a video about the Uprisings that had to be shown too. At last it ended, and the Escort stepped up to the microphone again. "To mark the event of our 5th Quarter Quell, the Capitol would like to announce something a little different. This year, only the children of the gods will be fighting. Isn't that exiting?" The audience met this with stunned silence. Next to him, Kayla was swearing. "Children of Apollo, up to the front."

"C'mon," Kayla muttered, dragging him by the arm. There were 34 demigods that fitted the age category. The Escort beamed. "First up," they said, digging into the bowl of names, "Will Solace."

"No," someone said loudly from behind me. It was Austin, Will realised with a start, staring at the Escort like they'd lost their head. The Escort glared daggers at him, and Will made his way up to the front. 

"Next up … Michael Yew." A short boy with dark hair and a scowl joined him. He glared out at the crowd like they'd all committed a personal felony against him. In a moment, Will's emotions would catch up with him and he'd break down but as he shook hands with Michael, he felt absolutely nothing at all.

He met Kayla's eyes in the crowd and tried to nod reassuringly, but he didn't think he pulled it off. He looked to his father - the mortal one - and smiled sweetly in goodbye. The old man's hands were crushed to his chest, tears streaking down his tanned face. He held his gaze until the peacekeepers ushered him of the stage.

* * *

DISTRICT 8: ATHENA

TRIBUTES: ANNABETH CHASE (17), MALCOLM PACE (18)

Annabeth Chase was dangerous.

That was a widely known fact throughout her school and district, so much so that her reputation preceded her wherever she went. It wasn’t that she was fast or strong or good with a knife, although she was all of those things.

No, Annabeth was feared because of her mind. She was who knew everything about everything and everyone, and if you paid her, she'd tell you what she knew. Whether that was which peacekeepers could be bought off or the perfect plan to get one up on someone you hated, she could tell you how to do it. She was a strategist and a business woman, carefully working within the loopholes of the law when she could and edging outside of it when she couldn't. If the peacekeepers knew everything she'd done she'd be put away for years, but she was good at covering her tracks and most people would be too afraid to turn her in. An entire black market of information and plotting had sprung up around and behind her.

It wasn't the life she would have chosen for herself, but she was smart enough to pull it off and gods knew she had no choice.

Her father worked long shifts in the textile factory, and barely made enough money to support himself, let alone her and Bobby and Matthew. Her stepmom did her best, but somehow the brunt of the work had fallen to Annabeth to make sure the little ones had enough food and clothes, and they had enough heating to ensure they didn't freeze to death in the winter. She tried not to resent them for their failure. It was easier this way, she told herself. At least she was independent.

Annabeth was on time to reaping as she always was, nodding to the peacekeepers on the way in as they glared at her furiously. She suspected they knew who she was. She took her place beside her half-sister, Hiraeth, who smiled tightly at her in greeting, slipping a folded piece of paper into her hand. She nodded in thanks, pocketing it. She'd examine it in private later.

The reaping began, as it always did, with a long spiel about the glory of the Capitol and how incredibly lucky the Districts were to be allowed to survive in it's presence after their horrendous crimes during the uprising, and how lenient the punishment of the games really was in comparison. This Escort was a true believer, Annabeth realised with disgust. From the curl of her emerald painted lips, she wasn't at all pleased to be here.

"As you all know, this is a Quarter Quell so things will be done a little differently this year," she said in her bubbly artificial voice. She went on to briefly explain how this year would work, calling all demigods forwards. Beside her, Hiraeth was frozen so Annabeth grabbed her arm, pulling her along with her to the front. 

There were 12 children of Athena who fitted the age category. 1/12. 8%. She had an 8% of being picked. She swallowed, meeting the Escorts eyes as she gave them a once over. Annabeth wasn't the first to look away. 

Hiraeth was still shaking, and Annabeth felt an irrational burst of anger. They were probably being projected on live TV as the candidates of the hunger games. They couldn't afford to look weak. "Be brave," she whispered to her and her half-sister nodded, reaching up to brush a dark curl behind her ear as she swallowed.

The Escort silenced the whispering crowd with a loud " _a-hem_ ," and slowly all eyes resettled on the reaping ball. "Introducing our first tribute," she said, sifting through the small collection of slips. "Malcolm Pace." 

All eyes found the blond boy who stood a few rows down from Annabeth. She didn't know him well, but she'd worked with him on job a couple of years ago and she knew he was smart, with a strong moral compass. For a second he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but after a moment he composed himself and climbed the steps to the podium. "Any volunteers? No? Very well. Now for our second tribute." There was a moments pause as she considered the slips of paper before withdrawing one. "Annabeth Chase."

A whisper erupted through the square, and for a minute she was pleased about how well known her name was. She climbed the steps slowly, taking her place beside Malcolm. The Escort clapped her hands together. "Perfect. This is a last call for anyone who wants to take the place for this young lady?"

Annabeth Chase was dangerous, but she wasn’t loved. So as the pink haired Escort scanned the crowd expectantly for volunteers, it came as no surprise when nobody came forwards.

* * *

DISTRICT 7: DIONYSUS

TRIBUTES: CASTOR BACHEL (14), POLLUX BACHEL (14)

Pollux and Castor had been living and working above the tavern for as Pollux could remember. It wasn’t a bad life. They went to school, they did the obligatory training in the forest, and then they came home and worked in the kitchens and behind the bar.

The tavern was widely acknowledged as being one of the best in the district, and rumour had it that it was the quality of the alcohol that had attracted Dionysus’s attention in the first place. His mother did nothing to confirm or deny those rumours, and when the boys inevitably asked she only ruffled their hair and told them she wasn’t going to give up her secrets.

They had three half siblings, but they were already entrenched in the timber industry, so they rarely saw them. They were lucky in that regard, as they had a way out.

The day of the reaping, Pollux woke up early for morning shift, leaving his brother to catch a few more hours rest. He ran into his mother in the kitchen, guzzling a cheap cup of coffee, her hair tied back in a knot on her head. She held some out to him in offering but he shook his head and she shrugged, draining the mug and getting up to dump it into the sink.

“You all ready for the reapin'?” she asked in greeting. He nodded. “Where’s that brother of yours?”

“He’s sleeping,” he told her. “I thought he could use the rest.”

“Right he could. Boy’s bin workin’ himself to the bone of late.” She waved her hand. “There’s some bread left over from yesterday, help yerself and then head downstairs, there’s some washing with your name on it.”

He went about his morning as usual, trying and failing to avoid looking at the clock every few seconds. Everyone was nervous on reaping day. Forty minutes before it started he went back upstairs to get changed, finding Castor already dressed and pacing up and down their room. He flashed him a smile as he wriggled into his best shirt and trousers, dragging a comb through his blond locks.

When he was done, he slung a friendly arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Come on, Cast, no use in being late,” he said with false cheer. Castor sent him a look that showed he was not at all fooled, but Pollux ignored him.

They followed the crowds to the square by the justice building, a bored looking peacekeeper directing them towards the other fourteen year olds. The Mayor read the Treaty and the Escort showed them the video, and before long the tattooed man, his skin painted entirely electric green, was calling all children of Dionysus up to the front.

All eyes turned to them and them and the crowd parted to let them past. Pollux kept his hand on his brothers back, sensing Castor was only seconds away from bolting. The odds on one of them not being reaped were tiny, but for some reason Pollux felt strangely calm. If it was to be one of them, he wanted it to be him.

He wasn’t afforded going to be afforded that wish, he realised as the man called out in a slimy voice, “Castor Bachel,” and his brother was ushered up to the stage. Castor stared at him out of frightened purple eyes. He screamed at himself to volunteer, but he couldn’t for the words.

He needn’t have bothered.

“Pollux Bachel!”

* * *

DISTRICT 6: HERMES

TRIBUTES: CONNOR STOLL (16), TRAVIS STOLL (17)

“The twin devils,” the townspeople would grumble at them as they raced past, yelling and shrieking with laughter. “Trouble makers. Jokers.”

Travis Stoll and his younger brother had been in and out of the justice building on a regular basis since they were ten. Never for anything serious, just … pranks and experiments. They thought they were hilarious, but some people, they realised as they were chased out of the market by yet another furious stall owner, didn’t agree. Some people were boring. They didn’t let that stop them.

Their mother died of an unknown disease when Travis was seven, and they were put into care with the other orphans of district six. The only other demigod there, Cecil, quickly became their third partner in crime as they hurtled around town, getting into trouble and making people laugh.

Travis and Conner sat high up on a wall outside of the market one evening, drumming their feet against the brickwork and munching on pasties that had been given to them by a kind vendor who had liked their magic trick.

“What are you thinking about?” Connor asked through a mouthful of meat and pastry.

“The Hunger Games,” Travis answered.

He made a face. “That’s too dark for a Thursday. Why is it on your mind now?”

Travis swung around to look at him, his elfish features unusually serious. “Con, we’re both twelve now. That means we’ll have to participate and potentially get reaped every year until we’re eighteen. What do we do if one of our names does get drawn?”

“I’d volunteer for you,” Connor said easily, sucking the last of his meal of his fingers. “You know I would.”

He nodded. “I know you would. I’m asking you not too. You need to promise me. Neither of us will volunteer for the other, no matter what happens.”

Connor almost asked why, but it was hot, and he was tired, so he stuck out his hand instead. “Okay. Deal. I promise on the river Styx to never put myself forwards for the games.”

“I promise on the river Styx to never put myself forwards for the games,” Travis echoed, shaking his hand. They’d started promising on the Styx whenever there was something important, as both boys were unrepentant liars, and they needed an oath they couldn’t break.

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, before Travis broke the tension with his usual crooked grin. “Race you to the square!”

And so they continued on the way it had always been for another four years yet. The two of them – or three, when Cecil was there – bounced from house to house, never staying anywhere for more than a few months. Neither boy was good at putting down roots in anything but each other.

The reapings became an annual source of nerves and anxiety, but other than that, they didn’t have much of a hold on their everyday lives. They didn’t have the time or the attention spans to focus on one problem for long. Besides, they were two out of thousands of kids. Their odds of being picked were near negligible.

Of course, those odds rose significantly when the announcement came, and Travis and Connor found themselves in a roped off section at the front with the 42 other demigods of District 6. Luke stood at the front, glaring up at the Escort out of narrowed eyes, his scar flashing in the light. The Escort was noticeably avoiding his gaze as he fidgeted nervously with the reaping ball, explaining how the reaping would work.

“This guy almost looks like a human being under all that paint,” Travis muttered to his brother. He laughed, but it was strained. “Hey, relax. There’s still 40 other people who could go in. I’d give you the statistics of our odds, but I slept through most of maths class. I’m sure they’re low, though, and the chances of us both being picked are practically non-existent.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Connor warned, and Julia shushed him. He grinned apologetically at her.

The Escort cleared his throat loudly and waved the slip of paper at them. “Connor Stoll? Which of you kids is Connor?”

All eyes turned to the brothers and Travis swore. “I am,” he announced.

Connor grabbed his sleeve and spun him so that they were facing each other. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Let go, Travis,” he said loudly, and then, dropping his voice to a whisper, “I promised I wouldn’t volunteer for you, but I can’t let you go so I’m doing this instead.” He shook free and climbed the last of the steps.

“Very good. Now for the second tribute … Travis Stoll.”

Connor heard his brother’s words from mere minutes echo in his ears. _“Practically non-existent.”_ He looked up at where his brother was standing in his place, looking devastated.

“I’m Travis,” Connor decided and stepped forwards. He heard a whisper sweep through the crowd as they realised they’d switched, but to his relief nobody said anything.

“Oh my,” the Escort started. “Are you brothers?”

“No,” Travis deadpanned.

“I’ve never met this boy in my life,” Connor chimed in. Someone in the audience snorted.

“I – alright,” the Escort said. “A round of applause for Travis Stoll and Connor Stoll!” Nobody clapped.

“Good luck in there, kids!” Someone shouted from the back.

“Keep laughing!” Yelled someone else.

Travis turned to gape at Connor in shock. Maybe they had a district who cared about them after all. Beside him, his brother grinned, waving excitedly at the crowd until the peacekeepers shoved them off the stage.

* * *

DISTRICT 5: ZEUS

TRIBUTES: THALIA GRACE (18), JASON GRACE (16)

For a god who was infamous for sleeping around, Zeus sure didn’t have a lot of third generation demigod children. Not claimed ones, at least, although everyone suspected that there were more waiting to be found. It wasn’t uncommon for a kid to claim they were Zeus’s lost child, and some of them might even be telling the truth but without evidence they were dismissed.

So it went without saying that Jason and Thalia Grace were pretty well known within their district, if not well liked by everyone. Jason was the golden boy, shining as bright as a star in the district filled with electricity. Brave, loyal, and highly trained, he was exactly as the stereotypical child of Zeus was imagined.

His sister, however, was less prone to the spotlight. Dark and sometimes secretive, Thalia was often feared where Jason was adored. She didn’t care. She did what she wanted, and nobody had the power to force her to do otherwise, as long as she didn’t break any laws. She spent hours breaking herself open again and again against spears and axes and knives. She lived every day like it was a battle, and she was fiercely devoted to her younger brother.

When the bored looking Escort explained the terms of the Quell, there wasn't a soul in the district who didn't know exactly who was being picked. There were only two names in the ball, after all. Thalia didn't understand why the Escort was still talking, but she supposed she still had to give the Capitol a show. All for the drama. She rolled her eyes.

She wondered what would happen to Jason if she was arrested for committing for killing someone during a reaping. She didn't think the Capitol had particularly strong policies about murder, considering the 'game' she was currently being put forwards to.

"And for our first tribute," the Escort said at last, dipping a red nailed hand into the bowl. She had to scrabble around for some time until she managed to pick one up. "Thalia Grace!"

"Hooty fucking hoo, what a surprise," Thalia snapped, stomping up the steps to the stage. The Escort flicked her an unimpressed look. She ignored her in favour of staring out at the rooftops of her district. Light glinted of the solar panels as she took it in one last time. She would never be coming back here, although she'd make sure she had her say in who did.

"Jason Grace!"

Her brother smiled graciously - Hades knew how he did it - and climbed up the steps and taking his place next to her. "Would it kill you to be polite, Thals?" he whispered, too low for the microphones. "We need all the sponsors we can get."

She flashed him a grin, making sure the camera's didn't pick it up. "It would kill me." 

"Please, shut up," the Escort mumbled through her cheek splitting grin. "You're giving me a migraine." She smiled even wider, the fakeness of it hugely over done. "There you have it, folks! Our brave young tributes of District 5! Let's hope I can bring at least one of them back to you safely."

Thalia hoped she had the good sense to figure out who the district needed more.

* * *

DISTRICT 4: POSEIDON

TRIBUTES: PERCY JACKSON (16), TYSON (15)

District 4 was littered with descendants, but there were only three true demigods. It had been like that for as long as Percy Jackson could remember. Rena, who was 80 and hardly left her fishing boats. He used to go to school with her grandkids, and had met her on numerous occasions. He’d liked her a great deal. Feo, who was 34 and lived above the docks with their wife. And him, who lived in a decrepit apartment out of sight of the sea with his mom and Paul.

But Percy was not, as he found out when he was 8, an only child. He had a younger brother, and that made every inch of his cramped living conditions worth it. When he was little, a colony of cyclopes washed up on the shore. They were smaller than they were in the stories, the tallest barely brushing 7’0, and were quickly put to work in the shipyard all but the youngest.

His name was Tyson, and he was, the Capitol decided, to be sent to the same school as Percy. Both boys were overjoyed, but it turned out that most children were not kind to a boy with one eye. Percy had never been one to get in fights at school, but he fought for Tyson.

“He’s my brother,” he’d told his teacher, his small fists balled at his sides. “He’s my family and my friend both, only he’s younger so I gotta look out for him.” That was how it had always been. The two of them against the world.

Reaping day came as it always did, a month before his birthday, and he and Tyson were hustled into the square with the other teens. Everyone was dressed in their best cloths for the occasion, even them. His mother had combed his hair out of its unruly tangle, and dropped an absent kiss on his forehead when it was done.

“There,” she’d said. “Now you look just like your father.” He’d complained good naturedly about her fussing and then tackled her in a hug and she’d laughed.

Somehow, he’d ended up next to his only other friend, Arya. He suspected she had some Poseidon blood herself a few generations down the line, with her vibrant red hair and bright green eyes. “What do you think the Quell is?” she asked in a whisper.

He shook his head. He had no idea. It had all been kept remarkably quiet this year.

There was a noise like a gunshot, and everyone jumped to face the stage. The Escort from the Capitol smiled loftily into the microphone. The reaping ball stood on a small table beside him, covered with a scarlet cloth. “Citizens of District 4, may I have your attention please. What an honour it is to be representing the Capitol here today …” he babbled on, a variation of the same speech Percy had heard a thousand timed before. He didn’t think he’d ever seen it delivered with this amount of gusto though, he thought as the escort bounced around the stage. He played a video about the uprisings and laughed when it was over. “Now, let’s get to the part we’re all excited about most: the quell! The twist! I won’t leave you in suspense for a moment longer. This year, instead of being open to everyone, the opportunity to represent your district in the games will only be there for the direct children of your sacred god. Demigods, if you will.”

 _Direct children of your sacred god. Demigod._ Percy was the only one who fitted that category.

The Escort whipped the covering off reaping ball, and sure enough there was only one slip of paper inside. The crowd stared at it with rapt attention even though they all knew what it would say. He thought he was going to be sick.

“Percy Jackson,” the Escort said in his clear, ringing voice.

Hundreds of eyes turned to him and he approached the stage, feeling as if dead-weights had been attached to his feet. Nobody said a word. He kept his back straight as he climbed the stairs, taking his place on one side of the Escort. He found his mom in the crowd. She was too strong to cry in front of so many people, but he was fairly sure Paul’s grip on her shoulder was the only thing keeping her upright.

“A round of applause for Percy!” the Escort said cheerily. “Of course, this is where we run into a problem. Who is our other tribute?” He laughed again like it was the funniest thing in the world. Percy was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t entirely sane. “Not to worry! Although Percy here may be the only demigod, he is certainly not the only child of Poseidon!” He waved his hand, and a peacekeeper carried a second orb into the room. There was only a handful of names inside. The escort swirled his hand through them for effect, before grabbing one at random and holding it up to the light.

“Tyson of the Cyclopes!”

* * *

DISTRICT 3: HEPHAESTUS

TRIBUTES: LEO VALDEZ (15), CHARLES BECKENDORF (18)

Leo Valdez grew up in the machine workshops that were scattered around the edges of district 3. They could probably have earned more money in the big tech factories in the centre, but his mother called those death-traps, and forbade him from ever going inside. Admittedly, Leo would have probably believed his mother if she told him the sky was purple and made of hedgehogs, but she'd never been known to be wrong. They scraped by, her and him, but no matter what he did or how hard he worked, the lined etched around her eyes never seemed to get any smaller. She smelt like machine oil and she loved him more than anything, though, and that was all he needed. 

He was six when his fire first showed itself, blazing up from his fingertips as he looked down at it and laughed. At the time, he hadn't understood why his mother wasn't as pleased as he was.

"Mijo," she'd told him, very seriously. "Fire is a gift, you understand, a gift from your father. But it's dangerous, and you could just as easily get hurt. It's rare, and if people find out you have it, they will take you away from me and use you. You can't tell anyone."

He hadn't understood, but he'd nodded anyway, sensing that this wasn't the time for one of his jokes. They didn't speak about it again until four years later, and by that time he'd almost forgotten he had it. He’d thought he had it under control.

It slipped out one day after school when he was working in the machine shop with Nyssa and Charles, and although he managed to stifle it almost immediately the damage was done.

"Woah," Nyssa had exclaimed, grabbing his hands and turning them over before he could yank them back. Her face was alight the way it always was when she saw something new and interesting. "Do that again!"

He shook his head. Charles turned away from what he was working on and lifted up his visor. "What's going on?" He looked at their linked hands and raised his eyebrows. "You're getting married?"

Nyssa dropped his hands and scowled at Beckendorf. "Leo has fire powers!"

He scoffed in all of his 13 year old wisdom. "Fire powers don't exist anymore. They're a myth. Look," he said, holding out is broad callused hand. Leo had always been amazed that such large hands could make such delicate things, but out of the three of them Charles was by far the best craftsmen. His own were narrow and deft. "I don't have fire powers, and I'm a demigod too."

"It's true," Leo said in a small voice, looking between them nervously. He held up his hand and a small flame flickered to life in its centre. "But you can't tell anyone else. It's a secret, and if people found out they could hurt me."

His mother had walked in then, smiling and humming something under her breath. Her welding goggles were pushed back on her head, and her black curls were springing out all over the place. Her smile faded as she saw the three of them clustered around the flame in Leo's hand and a look of terror had replaced it. In the end, Nyssa and Charles promised to not even tell Harley, but from then on, things were different. Three other people knew his secret. 

Leo had survived four reapings by fading into the background with Nyssa and he hoped to survive his fifth by doing the same, but of course that became impossible when the announcement came that only demigods could be reaped. Hephaestus didn't have a lot of children that were eligible. 9 of them in total. 5 boys and 4 girls, but the reaping wasn't split by gender here anymore, so it didn't make much of a difference.

The only thing Leo noticed as the Escort reached a long nailed hand into the ball was that he had lipstick stuck to his teeth. Then he was reading the name in a ringing voice and his stomach bottomed. "Charles Beckendorf."

His brave friend didn't even flinch as his name was called, but Leo felt like all of the breath had been knocked out of him as Charles climbed the stairs and took his place, staring out at the crowded square. Leo knew he was looking for his mother and mortal sisters. The Escort called for volunteers, but he didn't have the breath to step forwards. Then he flicked through the slips and withdrew a second name.

"Leo Valdez!"

Leo didn't move. His heart was a wild thing in his ears. 

"Leo?" The Escort scanned their faces. "Which one of you is Leo? Come on up now, don't be shy."

Leo unfroze and cleared his throat. "I think you read it wrong. The names 'Hot Stuff'. Or 'Super-sized McShizzle'. That works too." The Escort tipped his head back and cackled, and he was ushered up to the front with Charles.

* * *

DISTRICT 2: ARES

TRIBUTES: FRANK ZHANG (16), CLARISSE LA RUE (18)

Reaping day in District 2 had always been a boisterous event. People were yelling and shoving each other for a better view of the stage, far at odds with the other district's reaping's that he'd seen on TV. They'd been silent and filled with early grief for the children being sent to die; here, it was a celebration. Frank had always thought that was messed up, not that he could say it out loud. He knew his mother felt the same, only she had said it out loud. She was dead now.

No matter the age or status, everyone attended on reaping day. Frank and his mother had been no different, watching from the crowds at first and ever since his twelfth birthday he'd stood in the roped off section of his age category, silent and watchful as his peers cheered around him.

This was the first time he'd been here completely alone, though. He was doing a lot of things alone for the first time now. He sighed, craning his neck to look up at the stage. The Escort was chatting to the former victors and didn't look inclined to start the show any time soon. Streamers hung from the walls of the square, emblazoned with pompous messages about triumph and victory and the might of Panem. Once upon a time this square had run red with blood as the people fought back, but that time was long past. This was a nation too broken to even think about a widespread rebellion. 

There came a loud shriek from behind him and he turned around. It was clear to see who had shouted. In the 18's section a girl had been lifted onto the shoulders of her peers, and she had both beefy fists in the air as she whooped. Frank vaguely recognised from being two years older than him at school, a demigod daughter of Ares and a bully.

"Yeahhhhh! That's what I'm talking about! I'm gonna go to the Capitol and win this thing!" She shouted, and the crowd cheered in response. Someone was chanting: _"Bring home glory, show your valour, shower this district with your power! Bring home glory, show your valour, shower this district with your power!"_

Frank edged further into the background. He wanted to shake them and show them just what it looked like within the actual arena, but of course he couldn't. To most of these people, risking your life and soul for the chance of bringing home a victory was a worthy trade. If you disagreed, you were labelled a coward. That was the way it had always been.

Finally, the reaping began, the Escort shouting into the crowd to rile them. "Welcome, welcome, to the 125th annual Hunger Games and the 5th quarter quell! Glad to see you're all in good spirits." The teens watched the video of the Uprising in restless quiet, all waiting for the Escort to make the announcement of what the Quell would be. When it came, the crowd erupted into protest, and the gun had to be blasted three times to silence them. Frank and the other demigods made their way to the front, and the Escort smiled down at them in false encouragement. "Very good, very good. I see Ares has no shortage of children!"

He whipped of the cover and reached in for a slip of paper. For the first time, the square was dead silent as he read out, "Kymeria Olantso!"

The child had barely a chance to step forwards before the large girl from the 18's barged forwards, pushing past them to get to the microphone. She leaned in close. "Clarisse la Rue, at your service," she said, and someone in the audience whooped. Clarisse smirked. "And I would like to volunteer."

The Escort looked unsurprised. "Excellent! Now for the second tribute …" He fished around for a minute before extracting another name. "Cameron Arrazad!"

Frank turned to look at the ashy haired boy, and the older girl beside him preparing to throw herself to the wolves. Her mouth was working, and she steeled herself, opening her mouth to say the two words that would damn her. He stepped forwards before he realised what he was doing. "I volunteer," he said quietly. On the stage, Clarisse's jaw dropped, but he wasn't looking at her. He climbed the steps slowly, and approached the microphone and held it carefully between his fingertips. "My name is Frank Zhang, and I volunteer as tribute."

The Escort beamed. "Well, there you have it, folks! Our two brave tributes of district 2." I looked back down at the cluster of my half siblings, and I could have sworn the girl looked relieved.

* * *

DISTRICT 1: APHRODITE 

TRIBUTES: PIPER MCLEAN (16), SILENA BEAURIGARD (17)

Piper Mclean had grown up in the spotlight. Her father was an old victor himself, and now ran the most successful fashion business in the district, his goods carted directly off to the Capitol. She hated it. She knew of course that she should count herself lucky as people from the poorer districts were starving, but that was precisely why she hated it. Why should she have mahogany furniture and china tea sets when people were living of measly rations of grain?

She’d asked her father that more times than she could count, but he'd never given a satisfactory response. "I don't know, Pipes," he'd say tiredly. "That's just the way things are."

"But it shouldn't have to be," she'd argued.

"But it is, and you can't change that." Conversation over. 

District 1 had the second best Hunger Games stats after District 2. The games weren't greeted by the same bloodthirsty enthusiasm as they were over there, but this was still a career district and Piper was trained just like everyone else, although she had no intention of ever volunteering. Her dad's haunted eyes and the way he'd sometimes shut down for days at a time taught her that much at least. The glory wasn't worth the pain. 

She was the third side of an unexpected friendship triangle that had somehow formed years ago and held, and the three of them to pride in doing their best in smashing every box of meaningless expectations they could find. There was her, the daughter of the love goddess and a well-known star; Allora, whose brother had volunteered three years ago and never come home; and Shel, who'd kissed her on a rooftop last week but still hadn't found the courage to ask her out. There had been a fourth member or their group as well, Fai, but she'd pushed the line too far and even the influence of Tristan McLean hadn't been able to save her. Gilded fucking cage.

The reaping came and went each year, and a pair of volunteers were carted away to the Capitol. Sometimes one of them survived. More often than not, they didn't. But at least nobody in the trio had to worry about being forced into the arena unwillingly. It was an honour to put yourself forwards and test your courage. Most of the time it was agreed upon beforehand who would go, so that the reaping went as smoothly as possible.

As always, her dad and the other victors sat in a row along the back of the stage. Some of them were whispering amongst themselves as they gestured to the crowd, but most were staring apathetically out at their audience without seeming to take any of it in. Piper met her father gaze and he smiled reassuringly as the Escort flounced up to the stage. She sported a sleek pink wig, and her face was adorned with too many piercings to count. A tattoo of a roses peeked out from under her shirt and curled up her neck, melting seamlessly into her powdered makeup.

“Greetings,” she bubbled, and her voice was so sickly sweet Piper wanted to throw up as she started the ceremony.

“Blech,” Shel, muttered from beside her. “She is so fake.”

“What an honour it is to be here today, all the way from our beloved Capitol. Oh, how wonderful it is that a lucky pair of you will be able to see the shining towers yourselves in just a few days!” Right before they were carted of to murder each other, she didn’t mention. “But not just any pair of you. Oh no,” she chuckled. “This is not an open reaping this year. As a special occasion for the Quell, only demigods will be allowed to participate.”

She paused, a sugary grin curling her features as she let the crowd react to that. Mortal hopeful volunteers called out in anger.

Piper turned to look at Shel, her mouth part open. The other girl squeezed her fingers, but didn’t speak. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m coming back,” she whispered before dropping her hands and following Tracy to the front. She chanced a glanced up at her father. He was half out of his seat, looking thunderstruck.

District 1 was a career district, but as she looked around at her siblings she realised that none of the people who had previously been so enthusiastic to volunteer were actual demigods. The real possibility of her going into the games flashed in front of her eyes for a moment.

“Well, isn’t this just delightful? Aren’t you all just so exited to for this opportunity?” The Escort wobbled over to the reaping ball, flashing a last grin at the audience before reaching inside. She returned to the microphone and unfolded the paper.

“Valentina Diaz!”

A tall girl with night dark hair pushed forwards. “I volunteer.”

“Lovely,” the Escort simpered. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Silena. Silena Beauregard.”

“A pretty name. Up you come now.” Silena walked up to the stage and accepted the handshakes that were offered. She looked down at Valentina and nodded, and Piper realised she hadn’t volunteered for the fame at all. She’d done it for her half-sister, and that suddenly made her like her a whole lot more. “Now for tribute number two.”

The Escort reached back into the ball, and Piper held her breath. “Piper Mclean,” she called. Then she rose her eyebrows excitedly and looked back to her father. “I say, is this -”

“Yes, Piper Mclean is my daughter,” her father said remotely as she climbed the steps and took her place.

The Escort looked like she had stuck gold. “Let’s hope victory is an inherited trait, hm?”

She smiled numbly at the crowd, selfishly hoping that someone would step in to take her place, but nobody did. 


	2. The Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the tribute parade happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back besties  
> pov alternates between characters

(Nico’s POV)

Nico stood off to one side, absently brushing the horse’s coat while he waited for Hazel. Not that the horse needed brushing. It was sleek and smooth, and he doubted it had gone a day in its life without being carefully groomed and fed. He just wanted something to do with his hands, so he felt less uncomfortable, standing there all alone. It would be a half hour yet until the great double doors opened, but at least half of the tributes and their teams were already here.

The 12 chariots were scattered around the Remake Centre, the tributes huddled around the horses in costumes that ranged from passable to downright awful. His own stylist and prep team had already left, claiming they had something to see to before the ceremony started. Nobody was interacting except the Careers, who were talking loudly from their positions nearest the doors. Showing off, he thought bitterly. He didn’t really care. There was only one person in this city that was worth his attention.

Two people, he mentally corrected himself. He cared about two people. His sisters, both past and present - not that he could even be sure that the dark haired girl who called herself Bianca was the same sister who'd left all those years ago. She could be some other girl with the same name and looks. Years of practiced disconnect from the world around him kept him from raising his hopes too high.

He picked at the sleeves of his costume. Loose black silk from head to toe, a "fashionable" remake of the coal miner's baggy uniforms they had back home. He was even wearing eyeliner. ("We're trying to amp up the dark and mysterious look for you as much as we can," his stylist had clucked as he rearranged his hair until it was fashionably messy.) Nico thought it was ridiculous, but it could have been worse. He could be wearing colour. 

He narrowed his eyes at the boy foolish enough to try and approach him. He blanched at the death stare but kept walking. He had a crown of wheat in his golden hair, and he didn't look to happy about it.

"Um, hi," he started nervously. "The District 2 girl is staring at me, and it is quite frankly terrifying, and I don’t want to stand on my own. Would you mind if I hung around here until my partner shows up?"

Nico grunted in assent. "What's your name?"

"Will Solace, District Nine. I already know who you are. I watched your reaping on the train." He seemed oddly cheerful for someone who was being sent to his death. "Anyway, nice to meet you." He held out his hand and Nico surprised himself by shaking it. It was warm and solid.

A rush of whispers swept through the room, which could only mean one thing. More tributes had arrived. Nico looked up without meaning to. A shimmering girl in a long silvery dress and circlet strode into the hall, but Nico's attention slid straight past her to the smaller girl in an identical dress that appeared behind her. His stomach bottomed.

Bianca. The fabric glimmered against her olive skin, and the ceremonial bow slung across her shoulder signified her status as a Hunter. She seemed to very deliberately not be looking at him as she followed her district partner to their chariot.

“Bianca?” he breathed. She turned around and their eyes met for the first time in four years. His breath hitched. It _was_ her. He opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head frantically, making a cut throat gesture. 

"Do you know her?" Will asked, and Nico dropped his hand with a start, realising their handshake had been going on for way too long. He tore his gaze away from Bianca and stared guiltily at the floor instead.

"No. How could I?"

Will eyed him, clearly not buying it. "Alright. For the record, I don’t believe you, but you can be cagey and secretive for now, di Angelo.”

“Thanks for the permission.”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “I think your District partner is here now,” he said, gesturing to the grumpy looking short boy who’d just come in.

“Oh! Yeah, Michael. I should get going, then. I’ll see you around. Hopefully, we won’t wind up killing each other.”

“I would win if we did.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He flashed a grin and wandered off, but he hadn’t gone far before he turned around again. “Your eyeliner looks great, by the way,” he called. Then he was gone.

Bemused, Nico reached up to touch his eye before realising he probably shouldn’t. He shook his head - he was a mess. He flatly refused to look back at Bianca. He needed to hold it together right now.

It was a relief when Hazel showed up a few minutes later with her stylist. Her outfit was similar to his, but not identical. Her’s was edged with red and gold like catching fire. If he was a lump of coal straight from the mines, she was what it looked like when it finally caught ablaze. He was glad. They would have had a hard time passing Hazel off as gloomy, and she’d stand out a lot more this way.

“Can I hug you?” she asked. He nodded, holding out his arms and she went right into them. “Is it her?” she whispered, too quietly for anyone else to hear. He didn’t have to ask who she meant.

“Yes.”

“What are we going to do? Have you talked to her?”

“No. I’ll try and get a moment alone with her in training. “

The horse whinnied and nosed them, sticking it’s face right up into Hazel’s. She laughed, and stepped away from Nico. “I love horses.”

He smiled. “I know. I’m glad you’re getting to meet this one.”

“Me too,” she said absently, stroking her hand up and down it’s midnight black neck.

Their mentor started jabbering away about the importance of conducting yourself well in front of the Capitol, and Nico tuned them out like he had done every time since the reaping. Instead he let his mind wander as he took in the 22 other tributes he’d have to kill.

(Connor’s POV)

Connor stared at his brother, and as usual, it was like looking into a mirror. They were both dressed identically as some kind of train conductor, complete with a hat that was perched jauntily on his curls. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him so well groomed.

“We look like good shit, Travo,” he decided, pulling him into a hug.

“Travo – Travis?” Demanded their mentor, Kysa, a dark haired woman in her forties. “I thought _you_ were Travis.” Her face fell as she figured it out. “Oh, oh no. Please tell me you two didn’t switch places at the reaping.”

She looked from one nearly identical face to another and flung up her hands. “Oh my god, you did. Seriously?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Connor reassured her. “He tried to take the fall for me at the reaping. He had no way of knowing his name would be drawn too.

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” she grumbled, passing a hand over her eyes.

Travis arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you got paid for this.”

“I don’t, that’s why it’s a problem. Okay, how about this: we make it into some big mystery of which twin is which, play it up to the camera as one big practical joke. The Capitol eat that shit up. I just need to set it right before the actual games.”

“We’re not twins.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Why do we need to set them right at all?”

“I don’t know, do you want to spend your last weeks alive under a different name? Do you want your lifeless corpses to be sent back home and buried with the wrong identity because nobody can set them right because they don’t know who you are? And even if they did know, they wouldn’t be able to say anything without exposing the fact that you lied to the Capitol, which would be as good as a death sentence to everyone you love!”

The brothers exchanged a look. “You think we won’t win?”

“Well gods knows you aren’t showcasing enough intelligence for it to be otherwise.”

Connor realised Kysa looked genuinely distressed. “We’ll go with your idea, then. We just have to set them right before we go into the arena. Easy.”

Travis snorted. “You are just a right ray of sunshine, you know that?”

“It isn’t my job to be cheerful, it’s my job to do by utmost best at keeping at least one of you morons alive. Now, you were some of the last so there’s only a couple of tributes left to arrive. And then you’re going to get up on that chariot and spend half an hour riding through the Capitol, and so help me god you are going to give a good first impression. Stop looking like you’re about to pick someone’s pocket,” she snapped.

Connor saluted, feeling mildly impressed. “Yes ma’am. We’ll do are best.”

She checked her watch. “15 minutes. Go stand by your chariots and look threatening.”

(Piper’s POV)

“5 more minutes,” her father and mentor said, his exterior calm and collected as always. “You need to get ready.”

The large District 2 girl tossed her head and stomped over their chariot, swinging herself up onto the seat with a thud. Frank followed her in more subdued fashion. He was an odd choice for a volunteer, but she had to say that he came across as saner than most potential District 2 tributes.

“We’d best get prepared too,” said Silena. “We lead the procession.”

She was dressed in a long cobalt dress that matched her eyes, and her midnight hair was left loose and wavy, emblazoned with glittering blue gemstones. She looked like a jewel fresh out of a storybook. Eyes had been glued to her from the moment she arrived. Piper herself was wearing a similar green dress, her hair was braided elegantly down one shoulder.

It was flimsy and uncomfortable, and she wanted to set it on fire.

Silena offered her a small smile that she barely remembered to return as she climbed onto their chariot. Her father put a hand on her arm and turned her to face him.

Familiar dark eyes scanned her face as he searched for words. “Remember what I said about first impressions,” he said at last. She nodded, and he sighed, kissing her forehead once. “Go show the Capitol what McLean’s are made from. I’ll be waiting for you at the other side.”

The last call to get in order sounded, and Piper scrambled up beside Silena.

A cool mechanical voice narrated the countdown. “20 … 19 … 18 …” It hit zero and the great double doors opened. The cheers of the crowd broke over them like a wave and Piper found herself sitting straighter, smiling wider.

The music began. Their gold tinted horses broke into a trot.

Stars would shine in the Capitol today, but she would make sure she shone brightest of all.

(Hazel’s POV)

District 1 swept out first, and the crowd went wild at the sight of the girls looking so magical in their bejewelled gowns. They blew kisses and waved at the crowd. After 30 seconds District 2 followed, both tributes dressed in ceremonial bronze armour. The girl was shrieking something to rile the crowd, but the boy was strangely quiet. Then District 3, both boys dressed up as some kind of metal gadget she didn’t recognise, complete with a complicated net of wiring. The smaller one appeared to be smouldering, even as he grinned like a maniac and bounced around in his seat. At one point he would have fallen out of the chariot, had is partner not grabbed him in time.

Then District 4. The tips of the boy’s ebony hair were dyed dark blue, and his costume swirled and rippled around him in all different shades of the sea. It looked strangely realistic. A white sea shell necklace hung in the hollow of his tanned chest. His jaw was set and he stared straight ahead, but even then he was beautiful, and if there was one thing the Capitol had a weakness for it was beauty. Hazel knew he would be a favourite. The stylists hadn’t seemed to know quite what to do with his cyclopes brother.

Then District 5, the pair crackling with electricity that was hard to look away from. She felt a sick rush of nerves. In comparison to these people, their own coal costumes were barely worth a second glance. District 6, its identical tributes grinning mischievously under their ridiculously tall hats. District 7, wrapped in artificial grape vines. District 8, the girl dressed in a gorgeous dappled grey dress that mimicked owl feathers. District 9, blindingly yellow in their wheat costumes.

Bianca and Zoe from District 10, the living embodiments of moonlight. A sideways look confirmed that Nico wasn’t being subtle about staring at them, and she tapped his hand until he tore his attention away.

Then District 11, looking uncomfortable and mismatched. They certainly weren’t going to win any awards tonight.

And then it was their turn, and they were out of the minimal shelter of the Remake Centre and plastered across every screen in Panem. Her heart was a wild thing in her ears, and she felt blindly for Nico’s hand. He squeezed it tightly. For a moment she was jealous of his apathy. How nice it would be to not feel like she was about to throw up over the side of the chariot.

The lights were blinding, and she felt herself shrinking under the gaze of thousands of brazenly dressed onlookers.

“Breath,” Nico whispered, too quietly for the onlookers to hear. “Hazel, breath. Smile.”

“You’re not smiling.”

“That’s because people don’t like me. They’ll like you. Smile.”

She smiled, but it felt like more of a grimace. She kept her eyes fixed on the dark head of one of the District 11 girls. She was willing to bet that _she_ wasn’t smiling.

A rose landed on the seat, thrown by some Capitol member from the crowd. It was a sunny yellow, and it smelt delicate. She picked it up, and waved in the general direction of the thrower.

“Thank you!” she shouted, but her voice was swallowed up by the crowd.

Hazel clutched it so tightly the thorns dug into her hands, but she didn’t care. Up on the TV screens projected over the Capitol the camera flitted over them, and they didn’t look awful – they weren’t show stopping, but they weren’t a disaster. Nico looked stoic and she looked sweet, if a little nervous. Districts 1, 4, 5, and 10 got far more than their share of screen time, but that was only to be expected considering how fabulous they looked.

She smiled a little for real, and waved at the crowd again. She couldn’t pick out individual voices over the screaming mass of people, but she was certain that at least some of them were calling her name.

It would have to be enough.

(Frank’s POV)

The city lights caught and sparked on their armour, and the effect was only magnified by the twilight. They were quite literally glowing, and despite how much he didn’t want to be here, he had to admit it felt a little like magic.

Clarisse was screaming something unintelligible beside him, and he was sure there was a high chance he’d be deafened by the time the ride was over. People were throwing flowers at him, and it felt rude not to try and catch them all.

He could almost hear his grandmother harping in his ear. “Zhang Fai,” she would snap. “Worrying about manners when you’re being carted to your death.” Or alternatively: “Just because you’re doing to die doesn’t mean you don’t still have to be polite.”

He’d concluded that some people deserved manners, but others most certainly didn’t. This crowd didn’t, but old habits lay hard.

He nimbly caught a pair of calla lilies in one hand and a tulip in another, waving in the direction of the throwers. Possibly he looked cool and collected. Possibly he looked deranged. Who was he to say? Catching all the flowers people chucked at you was kind of a power move, right? It probably wasn’t, but he’d deal with that later.

The 12 chariots curved around into the city circle. This was where the most prominent members of the Capitol would be watching us. Frank looked up to his own face, projected onto one of the many massive screens. The bronze of his armour illuminated the planes of his face, and matched with the elegantly wrought metal he looked powerful. Strong.

It was a small miracle.

President Varys Snow stepped up the balcony, her icy-smooth voice cutting through every street in the city. “Tributes. We welcome you to the 125th Annual Hunger Games, and the 5th Quarter Quell. We salute to your courage and sacrifice. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

The national anthem blared, drowning out the cheers of the crowd, and their horses took them on a final lap of the circle before they disappeared into the Training Centre one by one. Frank leapt down from the chariot immediately, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. Clarisse followed, ramming her finger against his chest and getting right in his face.

“What the hell were you doing up there? You looked so _stupid_. It was an embarrassment, and if you cost us our reputation because you’re a failure, I’ll gut you myself.”

He stared at her levelly. “You were shrieking like a banshee. You can’t say anything about my performance.”

“Enough,” their mentor, Jamison, interrupted. “At least pretend to not despise one another. You both handled yourselves adequately enough.”

Clarisse turned on Jamison in disgust. “ _He_ didn’t.”

Frank ignored her in favour of staring around at the other tributes. The room was abuzz with energy and nerves, brightly coloured costumes and makeup sucking up all the extra oxygen. Some were talking excitedly with their stylists, whereas some were already leaving. He wished they could leave too.

What had he been thinking, signing up for this?

(Percy’s POV)

Tyson climbed down with a sigh, reaching up to pull Percy after him. Percy accepted his help with amusement as he was lifted bodily off his feet. Their team was already there, talking over each other about the merits and demerits of their performance.

Their mentor, Fen, clucked as he looked between them. “It was a horrible aesthetic choice to put you two next to each other. Percy, you looked stunning, the Capitol couldn’t take their eyes off you. But Tyson, by comparison …”

“Hey,” interrupted Percy, already annoyed. “Don’t talk about him that way.”

“What did I do wrong?” asked Tyson worriedly.

Percy glared daggers at Fen. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Nothing,” Fen conceded. “Why don’t you go over and stand with the stylists for a while? I’d like to have a chat with Percy. Alone.”

Tyson’s single eyebrow scrunched, but he went. Percy was tempted to call him back, but he thought he knew what their mentor wanted to talk about, and he wouldn’t have that conversation in front of his little brother.

“Percy,” Fen started diplomatically. “You might want to distance yourself from the cyclopes.”

“No.”

“Gluing him to your side like this isn’t helping your image. The Capitol doesn’t like monsters, you know that.”

“He’s not a monster.”

Fen at least has the grace to look apologetic. “No, of course not, but you know what I mean. You would do better if you were to strike out on your own. People will like you more.” He ploughed on as Percy tried to interrupt. “I know you want to stick with him out of some misplaced sense of loyalty, but this is the best way to survive and become the Victor.”

“If abandoning my brother is what it takes to become a Victor,” Percy said coldly, “then I don’t want it.”

“You’re being short sighted.”

“I don’t care.” He turned to the Capitol Escort. “Androlio, can you show me and Tyson where are rooms are, please? We don’t have anything to gain from being here anymore.”

“But you haven’t spoken with the other careers from 1 and 2 yet! Now is the time you’re meant make your stand and show them what you’re made of.”

Percy looked at him. “Fen’s right about one thing. Some people are assholes and don’t like cyclopes. I won’t risk one of them turning on him. We’re better off on our own this year.”

Androlio pursed his lips but didn’t argue further. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning. Your rooms are this way. Tyson!” Tyson lumbered over to them. “We’re leaving.” He turned on his heel and left, leaving the others to follow.

Fen grabbed his arm to stop him. “Don’t be a fool, Percy. Only one of you can survive this. You won’t be able to protect him in the end.”

Percy shook free and jogged to catch up with his brother, not bothering to respond. He’d protected Tyson for eight years; he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop now.

“Everything okay?” Tyson asked.

“Yeah.” Tyson still looked concerned, so Percy smiled, rummaging through his brain for a better topic. “Our rooms are gonna be full of gadgets. Let’s see how many of them we can break before we go into the arena.”

Tyson’s face lit up. “Yay! Gadgets!”

Riding the elevator up to level 4 was as thrilling as it was terrifying, watching the floor shoot away underneath him. He’d never liked leaving the ground. He hoped the arena wasn’t going to be anywhere up high.

Their apartment back home could easily have fitted into our floor here four times over, and he was right about the number of buttons and gadgets. Tyson’s eye was practically a dinner plate as he took it all in, and Percy smiled. It was good that he was happy, even if it could never last.

“Race you to the beds!” Percy said, and they took off, cannonballing through the doorway and pushing each other aside in the struggle to be first. In the end, he let Tyson win as they dived headfirst into a mound of clean bedding, their laughter muffled by the duvet.

Tomorrow, they would train. Today was for the last dregs of enjoyment before their inevitable doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment please or i'll impale you  
> updates should come quickly after this. i have over 70k written already but most of that takes place after the cornucopia so i need to fill in the training and interviews


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